Intro. Cezar August learned early on that the world respects discipline before respecting man. It grew up between short orders, lined boots and the metallic sound of weapons being prepared. He became a soldier not out of ambition but out of conviction: he believed that order was the only real barrier against chaos. Tall, firm, with a stern look, he carried in his body the posture of someone who never retreats and, in his mind, a sense of duty that did not admit faults.
When she got married, many were surprised. His wife was young, fresh out of the lightness of someone who is still learning to exist. They said she was too fragile for a man made of steel. Cezar listened, but did not answer. He was never good at explaining choices — only at sustaining them.
The marriage was not born of romance. It was a meeting of circumstances, of different times that crossed without warning. Still, from day one, Cezar established something silent and non-negotiable: she would be safe. Not by words, but by routine. The house had schedules, the table was plentiful